


Proof is the Bottom Line for Everyone

by openhearts



Category: Community (TV)
Genre: F/M, Post Episode Politics of Human Sexuality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-16
Updated: 2015-06-16
Packaged: 2018-04-04 15:30:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4143012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/openhearts/pseuds/openhearts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Annie's never been the girl who gets the guy.  It's not like anyone's ever accused Jeff of being mature.</p><p> </p><p>Beta'd by Jenn/Crackers4Jenn (on LiveJournal).  Title from the lyrics to Proof by Paul Simon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Proof is the Bottom Line for Everyone

Here's the deal:  
  
Annie's never been the girl who gets the guy. She's always been the girl who wants the guy that doesn't want her. But all that unrequited longing was what she channeled into her school work and  _then_ she got results. She spent her evenings rereading chapters, typing up notes, and making flashcards, and no, she didn’t get dates. She got  _A_ "s. So _there_.  
  
And no, her introduction to the world of carnal pleasures wasn't what you’d call conventional, and yes, maybe she had a slight relapse (she'd had six pills hidden in the sachet in her underwear drawer since before she'd gone to rehab, because a girl needs a secret weapon when life's getting her down, rehab or no) when she'd heard that Steve had come out,  
  
(He waited six months after their failed romantic encounter until graduation day, which was a really low point for her anyway, to prance across the stage with his diploma and throw off his robe, revealing a rainbow striped tie, and cue the A.V. kid to play "I'm Comin' Out" over the loudspeaker. Wouldn't a set of tasteful generic Hallmark cards with personalized handwritten messages mailed to his closest friends and family have sufficed? What has the world  _come_ to when nobody uses the  _mail_  anymore?)  
  
but the point is that she's always had an  _outlet_  for all the self-doubt that came from those soul-crushing years in high school. And now, she has a nearly (so close, yet  _so far_ ) unblemished record and being back in school, any school, has given her the college-ruled, three-hole-punched security blanket she so longed for in rehab.  
  
The S.T.D. Awareness Fair (Catch Knowledge!) was supposed to be just another event in her long list of extracurricular accomplishments, and then it turned into this  _attack_  on her just because she didn't want to say that  _word_  out loud in front of a whole gaggle of nosy people. Really now, what's so  _wrong_  with repression? There are some things that just don't have to be all out in the open, so she's perfectly fine keeping all that sex-related rigmarole behind the curtain of propriety.  _Forever._  
  
Because, remember, Annie's not the girl who gets the guy, anyway.   
  
_   
  
  
Here's the deal:  
  
It's not like anyone's ever accused Jeff of being mature. An asshole? Daily. A bastard? Often. Soulless joy-sucking demented excuse for a human? Actually, more than once.  
  
But mature? Oh no. That's not how he rolls, and here's why: when shit goes down, the mature mop up the mess everyone's made. The immature, if they're not the ones who made said mess, get to sit on the sidelines and  _observe_ which is the best way to gather knowledge. Forget asking questions, which betrays that you're  _interested_  in what's going on; you'll learn everything you need to know from pure and simple sideline commentating, and you'll keep your shoes clean.  
  
When it comes to women, it's a similar situation. You can get involved with a woman who wants to give and take and learn and grow, which inevitably leads to a harsh awakening when they realize that there's not much there beyond great hair, nice abs, and a razor-sharp wit. So, better to pick someone who either doesn't know or doesn't care that you're probably making fun of her to her face as long as you say it with a smile and pay for dinner.  
  
And yeah, he's met women who actually challenge him intellectually and who he can stand to look at. The problem with the intelligence is that they hear what he's saying  _and_  what he means. The problem when they're attractive is that he actually cares a little bit when they inevitably declare him a jerk.  
  
So, yeah, Doreen knows what's up. Britta is a  _real person_  and "Hot Blonde Spanish Class" isn't enough information to encapsulate why it still kinda stings when she won't even consider a date despite his best efforts. And the dean’s secretary (he already can’t quite recall her name) is just . . . no. No.  
  
And that leaves Jeff alone (fine, not a big deal), and  _confused_  (crap. This blows.)  
  
_   
  
  
Annie collapsed onto the sofa next to Jeff with her arms crossed. She sighed dejectedly. Jeff barely glanced up before continuing to squint blankly into the middle distance. He slumped down in his seat with his hands dropped limply in his lap.  
  
"Jeff, why does everything always have to be about sex?"  
  
"I know, right? It's like the world is constantly bombarding us with all these ideas and images and yeah, you think that way already, but it's because your brain has those instincts wired-in, and maybe they wouldn't be as intense if we weren't all marinating in the basest animal reactions to sexual stimuli being parroted at us by the media and fashion and social mores everyday! It's like we have no choice but to succumb and succumb until one day, oh, never mind, no more succumbing for you old man. It's time for you to grow up and be all . . . adult and crap."  
  
"I know, I . . . wait, are you making fun of me?"  
  
"Annie, I can honestly say that I'm not."  
  
"Really?"  
  
"I know, right? I don't even . . . Hold on."  
  
"What?"  
  
"You, Annie Edison, girl who forcibly made out with me in public two weeks ago like it was nothing, are now bemoaning the rampant sexualization of the everyday life of the modern American? You just single-handedly put on an STD fair complete with alcohol and a porno soundtrack."  
  
Annie blushed at her hands twisting together in her lap.  
  
"It wasn't  _nothing_."  
  
"Objection! You were right there with the quippy line!"  
  
"Rebuttal! It wasn't a  _kiss_  kiss, it was just a . . . a tactic in my game plan to win the debate by turning  _stupid_  Jeremy Simmons' point back on him, and Shirley told us about Abed's movie when we were studying, and it just  _happened_ , okay? It wasn't a big deal so we don't have to talk about it. It wasn't even a real kiss."  
  
Jeff crossed his arms and turned to study Annie with an incredulous smile now laid over the squint. "Define 'real,' Dictionary Girl."  
  
"Well, real would be like if we were alone. And there wasn't a debate. And we hadn't had it suggested to us that it was somehow inevitable because of Abed's movies, which my mother wouldn't put much stock in because she would never let me go to the palm reader at the carnival during Greendays even though I told her it was just for fun because _obviously_  I'm not going to take advice from a  _carnie_. She had _tattoos_."  
  
"Okay, one: Greendays?"  
  
"Yearly spring festival with rides and contests and a craft show and a Little Miss Black Greendale pageant."  
  
"Remind me not to register for the spring semester so I can avoid this god-awful town during that festival of wrong. Alright, two: . . . "  
  
Jeff paused, second finger held out, and looked at Annie silently for a moment.  
  
". . . what's two?"  
  
"Y'know what? Come with me."  
  
"Where are we going?"  
  
Jeff stood and offered his arm to Annie. He smiled reassuringly, which only served to weird Annie out more, because Jeff? Reassuring? Really?  
  
"Milady?"  
  
She took the familiar cue and smiled. Okay, now it was reassuring.  
  
"Milord."  
  
_   
  
  
It's not true that Jeff picked the first female who came into his line of vision with whom to prove to himself that he was still capable of making immature decisions for shallow and selfish reasons. At least, it didn't turn out to be.  
  
If Britta had walked by, they would have exchanged some sarcastic pleasantries, and he would have put the kibosh on the deep thoughts because if anything, she was a symbol of the truly strange turn his life was taking.  
  
Seven months ago if he'd met Britta he would have forgotten her two minutes after she turned him down, tops. It was Greendale that kept him circling around her like a gelled moth around a very blonde flame only to get burned every time. He had learned not to try to get so close, and then he experienced very brief moments of warmth. Not really satisfaction, but something that wasn't burn-y.  
  
By the same token, he never would have met Annie, much less spoken to her, or joined a debate team for her (let's be honest here, the parking space became moot the second Jeremy Simmons in his idiotic fedora uttered the word "Adderal"), or realized she could actually be gorgeous to a nearly blinding degree. Subtract the barrette and cardigan and suddenly he's all, 'Hello Annie, I love you, let me give you all my money and a puppy and some never-ending devotion.'  
  
Luckily Annie went back to barrettes and securely buttoned cardigans after that. But the thing was, Jeff couldn't un-ring that bell. Every time he looked at Annie, he saw her running her fingers through her hair. He saw the epic cleavage. He tasted her.  
  
It really complicated his goal for the night, which was, honestly, all about making his brain not feel so wrinkled. Shit, did he really just . . . ?  
  
_   
  
  
Annie scurried along beside him through the dark halls and Jeff felt . . . well he  _felt_ , first of all, so that's somewhat unusual, and what he felt was . . . exhilaration. Fear. He had no idea what he was doing. None at all. There was a plan, but it wasn't one with an endgame of getting out of something, or getting someone to bend to his will.  
  
Meaning he had to be making a  _really_  bad decision right? Blind instinct is never the answer. Talking is the answer. Talking and deflecting and redirecting. Those are things Jeff  _knows_.  
  
"Why are we in the library?"  
  
"Look around."  
  
"I don't see anything."  
  
"Or any _one_ , correct?"  
  
"Yeah, we're a-alone."  
  
Annie stared up at Jeff and her mouth opened a little. Her big round eyes got wider and rounder. He counted on his fingers for each point.  
  
"One. Alone. Two, as far as I know, there is no debate, unless you count the continual struggle between your essential purity and innocence and my innate snide bastardliness."  
  
"You're not a bastard, you're just-"  
  
"Eh, six of one, half dozen of the other. Three: Abed's movie predicted Jeff and Annie would kiss in the library, not at the debate."  
  
They looked at each other for a minute. Really, about a whole minute. Jeff found his hands sliding around Annie's waist.  
  
"But - oh," she squeaked.  
  
Yes. Oh.  
  
_   
  
  
"So that was-"  
  
"Shh."  
  
"But does this mean that-"  
  
"Annie. Stop talking. Your mouth does other things better. Funner things. Try something new. Focus on the fun, Annie."  
  
"Wait, Jeff." Annie pushed away, her little hands spread over his chest. She desperately tried to ignore how solid he felt under his sweater (really. Solid and firm and even . . . hard. Lordy.) and continued. "Just wait a second here. What are we doing?"  
  
"Okay, I know you rock this whole pure as the driven snow thing, but really? You need a play by play?"  
  
"I mean . . . we never said anything after the debate. It's been like two weeks of everything going back to normal and I just don't-"  
  
"Alright." Jeff stepped back and scrubbed a hand through his hair. "I had kind of a weird night. I found this really hot, stupendously dumb woman to prove Pierce and Britta wrong, and I couldn't close the deal because all of a sudden I've apparently sprouted a  _soul_  or something. I'm . . . really sorry Annie."  
  
"So you were using me just like you were using her. Except I'm not hot, and I like to think I'm not dumb, so . . . why?"  
  
Jeff stared miserably at the floor. "Because when you kissed me at the debate it was different. I wanted that feeling back again."  
  
"Different from what."  
  
"Everyone else I've kissed."  
  
"In a- in a bad way?"  
  
"No!" He reached toward her and she backed away a step, her arms firmly crossed in front of her again. Jeff shoved his hands in his pockets. "Not in a bad way. Not at all. And by the way, I don't want you thinking you aren't hot, because . . . well . . . yeah."  
  
Annie blushed, but composed herself quickly and eyed him.  
  
She wasn't sure she could have put it all into words, but she got it. Somehow, somewhere, she knew exactly what he meant.  
  
Somehow, somewhere, she realized what she'd meant before about being repressed was only partially true. She wanted and needed and even, sometimes, pursued. She just couldn't bear to have to  _prove_  herself to anyone anymore. School was an exercise in proving she knew certain things. The rest of her life was an exercise in holding it together so other people couldn't prove she was crazy, or lame. What Annie really wanted at the moment was to do something, anything, scary and unplanned and  _different_.  
  
So Jeff trying to prove something to himself, with her? Wasn't as reprehensible as it sounded. Because this wasn't all about him anyway. Was it honorable? Not really. Was it immature? Yeah. But . . .  
  
Secretly? Annie never  _really_  believed that man was inherently evil.  
  
She slid forward a step. Jeff's eyes flicked up to watch hers as she came closer, until she unfolded her arms and reached up to cup his face in her hands.  
  
"This is . . . something real?" She whispered.  
  
Jeff nodded, his eyes now straying to her mouth. "It's not my specialty, but . . . yeah. Something."  
  
Annie nodded back, and as she did her eyes slipped closed and she pulled him down to her again, kissing him like she did at the debate - with purpose and something like . . .  _passion_ \- minus the paraplegic and the audience. It was insanely hot, and also completely terrifying. Jeff pulled his hands out of his pockets and let them skim around her back again.  
  
No, he didn't know what this was. It wasn't anything like anything before. Real was the only option left. Complicated. Messy. Most likely inappropriate. Inconvenient.  
  
Annie sighed into his mouth and scratched her nails lightly over the back of his neck.  
  
Oh yes.  
  
Real.  
  
_   
  
  
Abed peered into the study room from the shadows of the darkened library, Troy’s glass of water momentarily forgotten in his hand. There they were, Jeff and Annie, acting out the scene he’d filmed weeks ago letter perfect. Well, Shirley and Werewolf were missing, but really, that was for the best.  
  
_ 


End file.
